Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 405: DRAGON OF DESTRUCTION

Flameborn, however, wasn’t idle at all.

While Aaron claimed lives among the soldiers at the southern flank, carving through their ranks with shadowed precision, Flameborn dominated the northern front.

His massive form loomed like a living eclipse against the starry backdrop, wings casting long, ominous shadows over the asteroid field.

The air around him shimmered with intense heat, the void itself seeming to warp from the raw power radiating off his obsidian scales.

With a single, sweeping swipe of his claws, each talon as long and sharp as a cruiser’s prow, Flameborn struck down dozens of soldiers at once.

Their armored bodies crumpled under the impact, suits rupturing in sprays of frozen blood that glittered like shattered rubies in the cold vacuum.

Screams echoed silently, faces twisted in agony as life ebbed away, leaving limp forms drifting aimlessly among the debris.

Not content with mere physical destruction, Flameborn tilted his head back, jaws parting wide to reveal the glowing inferno building in his throat.

He unleashed a torrent of dragon breath, the dark flames surging outward in a roaring wave that devoured light and matter alike.

Several warships caught in the blast buckled and exploded, hulls melting like wax under the onslaught.

The detonations lit up the void in brief, blinding flashes, claiming even more lives as shrapnel tore through nearby troops.

The scent of charred metal and seared flesh would have choked the air if not for the merciless silence of space.

Amid the chaos, one brave soldier, driven by a mix of desperate duty and the flickering dream of glory, saw his chance to become a hero.

He was among the strongest in the ranks, his enhanced armor humming with overcharged energy, muscles tensed beneath reinforced plating.

Heart pounding with adrenaline, he sprinted across the asteroid’s uneven surface, leaping onto Flameborn’s back in a bold, suicidal climb.

The dragon’s scales felt scorching under his gloved hands, like gripping heated iron, but he pushed onward, visions of praise as the legendary dragon slayer fueling his resolve.

Reaching the chest region, where the reverse scale gleamed vulnerably amid the armored hide, he raised his vibro-blade high.

The weapon vibrated with lethal intent, poised to strike the fabled weak point that could fell even the mightiest beast.

But to his utter dismay, flames erupted from Flameborn’s body in a reflexive burst, a protective aura of dark fire that ignited without warning.

The soldier screamed as the heat enveloped him, armor melting and flesh charring in seconds.

He tumbled off like a burnt corpse, body twisting in the void, smoke trailing from the blackened remains as it floated away, forgotten.

Flameborn didn’t even acknowledge the soldier’s existence.

His golden eyes remained fixed ahead, unperturbed by the futile assault.

He focused solely on demolishing even more foes, his presence a force of unrelenting annihilation.

He wasn’t flashy or elegant in his decimation, unlike Aaron’s calculated strikes.

To Aaron himself, his own style felt crude and violent, dominant thrusts and ruthless cleaves, but compared to Flameborn, it still carried a certain grim elegance, like a shadow dancer weaving through death.

Flameborn, on the other hand, was pure brutality.

His attacks were carnage incarnate, cruel and unforgiving, leaving behind nothing but ash and ruin.

He opted for the simplest, most devastating path: dragon’s breath.

Periodically, he unleashed blasts of the eclipsing flames, sweeping arcs that vaporized clusters of soldiers and ships alike.

The void filled with the faint glow of embers, remnants of lives extinguished in an instant.

Those foolish enough to try hurting him faced immediate consequences.

Reflexive bursts from his brain triggered flames that torched assailants mid-leap, their ambitious charges ending in agonized, fiery deaths.

Cannons fired from distant warships were batted away by powerful flaps of his wings, the gusts redirecting the projectiles back into enemy lines with explosive results.

Soldiers who dared crowd him were decimated by sweeping claws, bodies rent apart in sprays of debris.

If you were to ask the surviving soldiers who they preferred to face, a good number would choose the Celestial Devourer without hesitation.

Dying from impaling shadows or swift spikes seemed merciful compared to the horror of being torched alive, the slow burn, the searing pain that consumed from the inside out before oblivion claimed them.

Meanwhile, Aaron pressed on with his own merciless actions, his shadowed daggers flashing in the dim starlight.

He cleaved through necks with cold efficiency, reducing the soldiers’ numbers cruelly, one decapitated form after another tumbling into the void.

Blood froze in mid-air, forming crystalline trails that caught faint reflections of exploding ships.

The battlefield reeked of ozone and despair, the weight of impending doom hanging heavy over every survivor.

The general watched from his vantage point on a drifting asteroid, his face a mask of defeated horror.

He couldn’t stomach the loss anymore, the sight of his once-proud army crumbling, bodies piling up like discarded scrap.

Rage boiled inside him, a hot knot in his chest that demanded action.

"Aaahhhh!!!" he roared, the sound vibrating through his helmet’s comms.

Gripping his sword tighter, he charged toward Aaron, deciding to take matters into his own hands.

Muscles straining, he leaped across the rocky terrain, boots kicking up dust that floated lazily in zero gravity.

The general swung his sword in a fierce diagonal slash, the blade humming with embedded plasma energy, aimed to bisect the shadowed figure from shoulder to hip.

But Aaron saw through the attack effortlessly.

His mystic eyes analyzed every detail, the general’s stance, the arc of the swing, the subtle imbalances in his form.

Gaps appeared like glowing weak points in his vision, opportunities begging to be exploited.

"Your footwork is very poor," Aaron said to the general, his voice a chilling echo laced with mockery.

In one fluid motion, he kicked out at the man’s weaker foot, the one that made the entire attack awkward and off-balance.

The general stumbled, his momentum betraying him.

He lost his equilibrium completely, crashing down onto the asteroid belt with a heavy thud that sent cracks spiderwebbing across the rock.

Pain shot through his limbs, but worse was the flush of heat rising to his face, embarrassment burning hotter than any wound.

His cheeks turned red beneath the visor, the humiliation exactly what Aaron had aimed to inflict, stripping away the last shreds of his authority.

"Don’t be in a hurry to die," Aaron told him coolly, shadows coiling tighter around his form like eager serpents. "Yours will come soon enough."

With that, Aaron turned away, resuming his carnage without a backward glance.

Daggers sliced through the air, claiming more lives in brutal strokes.

"Please spare me! Please spare me!!" one of the soldiers pleaded desperately, his voice breaking as Aaron advanced toward him.

Fear gripped his heart like icy claws, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

He dropped his weapon in a clatter, arms raised in surrender, accepting the bitter taste of defeat.

Aaron paused for a fraction of a second, his shadowed gaze sweeping over the man.

"Sorry," he replied flatly, without a hint of remorse.

"But I don’t see any coin in your hand."

The soldier’s eyes widened in panic. "Wait. I will find—"

Aaron didn’t let him finish the statement.

With a swift, unyielding swing, he cleaved the man’s head from his shoulders.

The body slumped, blood arcing out in a frozen spray.

"Next," Aaron said, turning around slowly.

He swept a cold, indifferent look across the remaining soldiers, his crimson eyes piercing through the darkness like judgment itself.

The void seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next victim in the endless cycle of destruction.